


burn my throat, tell my truths

by kinneyb



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-18
Updated: 2020-02-18
Packaged: 2021-02-28 06:48:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,499
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22789756
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kinneyb/pseuds/kinneyb
Summary: When Geralt sees Jaskier again, he’s at a tavern, drunk out of his mind and leaning against a man, giggling through hiccups. He pauses at the door and almost debates just turning around and leaving; it’s been almost four months since their incident on the mountain and what’s the point in ripping open old wounds? Jaskier looks happy. -- or; Jaskier picks up a bad habit, Geralt finds him in a tavern.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 10
Kudos: 386





	burn my throat, tell my truths

**Author's Note:**

> for day 5 of geraskier week: realization 
> 
> obviously tw for light/mentioned alcoholism 
> 
> twitter: queermight  
> tumblr: korrmin

When Geralt sees Jaskier again, he’s at a tavern, drunk out of his mind and leaning against a man, giggling through hiccups. He pauses at the door and almost debates just turning around and leaving; it’s been almost four months since their incident on the mountain and what’s the point in ripping open old wounds? Jaskier looks happy.

Geralt… well, he’s surviving.

But then the man slips a hand down the front of Jaskier’s trousers and Jaskier gets a weird, pinched look on his face and Geralt is moving before he can think better of it.

He grabs the man’s wrist and yanks his hand out of Jaskier’s trousers. The man looks up, frowning, “Hey, fuck off,” he says without missing a beat.

Jaskier sways a little on his feet, eyes glassy, “ _Geralt?_ ”

“He’s drunk,” Geralt growls, and the man laughs,

“He wants this,” he says, nipping at Jaskier’s jaw, “Don’t you, baby?”

Jaskier blinks and for a split second he looks completely sober. He shifts on his feet and gently pushes the man away, looking almost guilty. “Um.”

“Come on,” the man says, gruff and impatient, mask slipping, “Let me take you to bed, sweetheart.”

Geralt fingers twitch. He wants to grab his sword, wants to –

“Don’t call me that,” Jaskier says with a frown and steps back on unsteady legs. Geralt reaches out for him, hesitating, only wrapping an arm around him when Jaskier nods, silent permission.

The man huffs and stands up, knocking his chair back. “You little fucking _tease_ ,” he hisses in Jaskier’s face, and Geralt –

well, he’s not having it.

He punches the man in the nose and watches with sick satisfaction as the man stumbles back and falls to the floor. He cups his bleeding nose, glaring up at the two of them. “Fucking bitch,” he snarls in Jaskier’s direction, and Geralt wants to hit him again.

Thankfully he doesn’t have to. Jaskier kicks him and the sound is just as satisfying as the sight.

The man doubles over, spatting blood on the floor, and Geralt squeezes Jaskier. “Come on,” he says in his ear, “We should probably go.”

Most of the patrons of the tavern are watching them, wide-eyed. Jaskier nods, eyes back to glassy, and Geralt helps him out of the tavern and down to the road. He holds him up as he asks, “Where have you been staying?”

“I…” Jaskier blinks, slow, then his eyes widen like he’s just remembered something, “Geralt, it’s _you_.”

Geralt smiles, almost, and nods, “Yeah. Jaskier,” he reaches up and brushes some hair out of his face – he’s burning up, “How much have you had to drink?”

“Ohh,” Jaskier replies with a toothy grin, “I don’t _knowww_. Enough?”

Geralt rolls his eyes, “Okay, come on,” he says, gruff, as he leads Jaskier down the road to the inn. The innkeeper just shakes her head disapprovingly at them.

He struggles to get the door open, with no help from Jaskier, and walks to the bed. Jaskier sits down and sways back and forth, “Hey, Geralt,” he says.

Geralt sighs, “Yes?”

“I’m… really, really tired,” he says, eyelashes fluttering and Geralt’s heart does something funny in his chest. He nods and points at the bed,

“I’ll take the floor. You go ahead and sleep this off.”

He’s glad he showed up when he did; Jaskier was obviously not in any state of mind to be consenting to _anything_. Jaskier nods and plops on his back with a _thump_.

Geralt shakes his head, mostly fond, as he starts making a pallet on the floor.

“Geralt,” Jaskier says, surprising him.

He looks up. He’d assumed the bard would’ve fallen asleep as soon as his head hit the pillows. “Yeah?”

“Wh… what are you _doing_ down there?” he asks, sounding genuinely confused, “Get up here.”

Geralt pauses, “Jaskier, you’re drunk – ”

“I’m not _drunk_ ,” he argues but then, “Okay, I’m kind of drunk but I’m not… I’m not asking you to, like, _sleep_ with me.” Geralt looks up, and Jaskier beckons him over silently.

He sighs, heavy, and stands up. Joining Jaskier on the bed, he settles on top of the blankets, just to be safe. “Happy?” he grunts,

and Jaskier grins like the fucking sun, “Mhm.”

Geralt leans over and pulls something out of his bag. “Here,” he said, handing it – a canister of water – to Jaskier, “You need it.”

Jaskier whines, “But I’m _sleepy_.”

“Take a sip,” Geralt says, “and then you can sleep.”

Jaskier sighs, dramatic as shit, and sits up. Geralt watches as he takes not just a sip, but four or five gulps. He takes the canister back and puts it away.

“Better?” he asks.

Jaskier plops back down. “Tired,” he says.

Geralt smiles, “I know,” he assures him as he leans back over and pinches the wicks between his fingers. Without them, the room is almost pitch black.

He settles down beside Jaskier. With his enhanced senses, he can easily see him even in the dark. His hair is a wild mess, he has a bit of stubble on his jaw. He looks older.

But it’s only been four, Geralt thinks, almost bittersweet. Humans aged too quickly.

His eyes are closed, and his breathing is slow, even. Geralt assumes he’s fallen asleep, so he closes his own eyes, satisfied that Jaskier was no longer a threat to himself.

Except, “Geralt?”

He sighs without opening his eyes, “Yes, Jaskier?”

“I – I missed you,” he admits to the dark room, and Geralt opens his eyes. Jaskier is staring at the ceiling and his eyes are still a little glassy but there’s a determined set to his jaw.

Geralt doesn’t know what to say. “I know,” he says dumbly.

Jaskier smiles, brief and sweet, and rolls over, facing him. Geralt knows Jaskier can’t see _him_ , but _he_ can see him. He looks somehow both happy and sad. “I’m still mad at you, you know,” he says, slurred. “Like, _superrrr_ mad.”

He snorts, quiet. “Yeah?”

“You abandoned me, Geralt,” he says, and he’s still slurring, but the words hit Geralt, hard, in the chest.

He looks away, but then remembers Jaskier can’t even see him and feels stupid. “Maybe we should wait to talk about this in the morning,” he says, gruff.

“You’re…” Jaskier smacks his lips, “You’re always _avoiding_ stuff.”

Geralt runs his tongue over his teeth. “That’s my specialty,” he replies, dry as a desert. “Go to sleep, Jaskier.”

“I’m… fuck, okay,” he agrees, and Geralt bites the inside of his lip, suppressing a snort. “But we’re – we’re talking about it in – in the morning.” Jaskier snuggles closer, and Geralt stiffens.

Before he knows it, Jaskier is snoring, a soft weight against his chest. Geralt sighs, quiet, and closes his eyes. He was not looking forward to the morning.

Geralt opens his eyes and Jaskier is still asleep, curled up against his chest and snoring lightly. His heart squeezes at the sight. It’s morning, he can tell by the light streaming in through the window, only blocked slightly by the cheap curtains.

He almost doesn’t want to wake Jaskier up. Doesn’t want to hear what he has to say, but –

After what he did, it was the least he could do. So, gently, he brushes hair out of Jaskier’s hair and Jaskier groans, eyelashes fluttering, lips smacking.

“Jaskier,” he says, “It’s morning.”

Jaskier opens his eyes. He looks – well, _terrible_ , dark circles and dry lips. Geralt leans over and retrieves the water again, handing it to him. Jaskier smiles, thankful, as he sits up and takes a sip.

“Fuck, my head is killing me,” he grumbles.

Geralt takes the water back and puts it away, “Not surprising,” he says, “You were drunk off your arse last night, Jaskier.”

Jaskier looks almost guilty. “Um, yeah,” he says, swallowing. “Sorry.”

“You’re a grown man,” he remarks, “You’re allowed to get drunk every once in a while.” Geralt pauses, thinking of that _bastard_ with his hand down Jaskier’s trousers and he almost sees red. “Just be more careful,” he adds as an afterthought.

“Yeah,” Jaskier says, looking down at his hands. Fidgets. “But it’s _not_ just every once in a while.”

He doesn’t explain, so, Geralt gently prompts, “What do you mean?”

“I – ” Jaskier runs his tongue over his lips, “That’s been my nightly routine for… the last four months.”

Geralt isn’t an idiot. The words settle and he feels almost sick. “Jaskier,” he says, trailing off because he doesn’t know what to say. This was his fault; everything was _always_ his fault. Geralt had a history of ruining good things, and Jaskier had gotten caught up in it.

“I just…” Jaskier shrugs, a little sharp, and looks away, “I needed something to – to numb it.”

Geralt wishes he could see his face. “Numb what?” he asks as if he doesn’t know the answer. (He does.)

Jaskier laughs, humorless, “The pain.”

“Jaskier,” he repeats, wishing for once he was good with words because he was coming up blank.

The bard turns his head and his eyes were sad and glassy, “You _really_ hurt me, Geralt,” he says, and Geralt knows that, he _obviously_ knows that, but Jaskier says it like it’s new information.

“I know,” he says, “Jaskier, I’m – ”

Jaskier smiles ruefully, “No, Geralt,” he interrupts, “You don’t.”

Geralt blinks, once. “Jaskier, I’m trying to say I’m sorry,” he says.

“I know,” Jaskier replies and he pulls his knees up to his chest, looking wildly young as he hugs his legs, “But you don’t even know what you’re really apologizing for.”

Geralt is so, so confused and he almost bursts, says something mean and cruel because it’s just be so much _easier_ to push him away again, but he doesn’t. He wants to do this right.

So, he clears his throat and shifts on the bed, properly facing Jaskier, “Then tell me. Please.”

Jaskier smiles, brief and sad, “I can’t remember you ever saying that word to me,” he mutters.

“I – ” Geralt starts, but Jaskier looks over at him, chin propped on his knees and his words die in his throat. No words are good enough.

“I was hurt for more reasons than you know, Geralt,” he says, soft and almost shy. Geralt nods, silent, and waiting because he knows Jaskier has more to say. “Um,” Jaskier sits up straight, the corners of his mouth twitching.

Geralt watches him, every twitch of his face. He has so many questions, but he doesn’t ask any of them.

Jaskier looks at him, bottom lip trembling, and Geralt wants to reach out to him. “I have feelings for you, Geralt,” he says, “beyond that of just friendship.”

And –

well, Geralt just stares.

Jaskier shifts, looking away. Suddenly, Geralt is remembering every second of their relationship.

Meeting him in a bar (why had he approached him if he hadn’t even know he was a Witcher at first?)

Jaskier sticking around even when Geralt was a bastard to him, his unwavering loyalty.

_“And yet, here we are.”_

Geralt reaches out and grabs Jaskier’s arm, squeezing it. Jaskier startles, looking over at him with wide, damp eyes.

“Geralt?” he asks in a soft voice, and _fuck_ , he was literally the worst person ever.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” are the first words out of his mouth.

Jaskier smiles, tight around the edges, “Right, because _that_ would’ve gone over well.” His eyes flicker to Geralt’s mouth, “You barely even accepted me as a friend, Geralt. I had no hopes for more.”

“But – ” Geralt doesn’t know what to say. He wishes he could go back to that day on the mountain and just stop himself from saying those cruel words.

Jaskier shrugs his hand off, “I didn’t tell you that expecting anything,” he says, “I told you for me. I’m – I’m tired of hiding my feelings. I was drowning in them.”

“I wanted to find you,” Geralt blurts, too fast. He needs Jaskier to know.

Jaskier sniffs, an odd tilt to his lips, “What?”

“After we parted ways, I thought about searching for you. I wanted to, but – ”

Jaskier smiles ruefully, “ _But?_ ”

Geralt’s shoulders slump. He stares at Jaskier, unwavering. He was not going to be a coward, not now. “I thought you’d have a better life without me in it,” he admits. “I thought if I just stayed away long enough, you’d move on and things would be better.”

“Oh,” Jaskier breathes. “ _Geralt_ ,” he says, full of thick emotion, “That’s not – ”

“But isn’t it?” he interrupts. “I have never treated you right, Jaskier. You deserve better.”

Jaskier crawls forward, slow, and wraps his arms around Geralt’s shoulders. Geralt stiffens, briefly, before he relaxes again. “This isn’t about _deserving_ anything,” he whispers, pulling back, “I _want_ you in my life, Geralt.”

Geralt swallows thickly. Jaskier smiles, sad and wet.

“As a friend, as… _more_ , I don’t care. I just want you in it.”

Geralt slowly returns the hug, slipping his arms around Jaskier’s waist. He’s lost weight, he thinks idly, feeling almost sick. “I’m not a good man, Jaskier,” he says. “I’m selfish and cruel, and my life is not fit for a human companion.”

Jaskier shakes his head, “You’re not as good as I’d hoped,” he says, soft, “but you’re better than you think.”

“You deserve better,” he says.

Jaskier smiles sadly, “But I want you, Geralt.”

“I can’t promise I won’t hurt you again,” Geralt says, fast. His fingers twitch against the soft fabric of Jaskier’s shirt. He hadn’t realized how much he’d missed Jaskier until – well, until he had him back in his life.

He missed his singing, his bright blue eyes, his quips, his _everything_. Geralt says none of that, though.

He wants to be better, he does, but baby steps.

“People hurt each other, Geralt,” he says, “What matters is that you don’t run away.”

Geralt nods and there’s so much he can’t say, but there is one thing – “You’re very brave, Jaskier.”

Jaskier blinks, once, cheeks pink. Geralt smiles, just the tiniest bit. “Hardly,” he remarks.

“Being honest with not only yourself but others is… _incredibly_ brave,” he says, meaning it. "More than you know."

Jaskier shrugs, “I turned to fucking _alcohol_ because I was too hurt to deal with it, like, productively,” he says, and Geralt is an expert at identifying self-hatred and Jaskier’s words are dripping with it.

“I want to travel together again,” Geralt says, and Jaskier looks confused for a split second before he nods, looking hopeful. “But only if you swear you’ll stop drinking.”

Jaskier nods without missing a beat, “Um, okay, yeah. I’ll – I’ll try my best.”

“Okay,” Geralt says. It was the best Jaskier could do; _trying_. Jaskier would try to get rid of his bad habit, and Geralt would try to be more honest. His fingers twitch against Jaskier’s hips again, drawing him in closer. Jaskier lets out a soft gasp. “I’m happy you're okay, Jaskier.”

Jaskier buries his face in Geralt’s shoulder. He thinks he might be crying. Geralt rubs his back, silent.


End file.
